Everything There is to See
by the melon lord 2.0
Summary: The loss of her eyesight was something she didn't think she could ever come to accept, but as Serenity begins to bond with a nameless stranger, she starts to wonder if maybe her blindness allows her to see more clearly than eyes would ever allow.
1. Chapter 1

My life changed irrevocably when my mother shipped me off to a blind person support group. Or at least that single occurrence, an unexceptional event in itself, is what laid the foundation for so many things that would happen after. No matter how ironic it is that she gets all the credit, it was undeniably my mother's insistence that I talk to others 'like myself' that led to, well… I guess _everything. _

Ironically, I refused to go back after attending a single meeting. Not that it was awful or anything. Honestly, I stayed for about thirty seconds. Maybe it would've been an 'eye-opening experience' (pun intended, by the way), but I wasn't willing to stick around and find out. See, as soon as I walked in, the guy leading the thing started talking about how not being able to see _wasn't a handicap. _Then he went on to say that he hadn't ever seen anything in his life, and _he was just fine. _

I wasn't a very judgmental person. I mean, I grew up with a brother who liked to shove pretzel rods up his nose and pretend to be a walrus, a mother who fretted if I wanted to use the bathroom by myself, and a father who drank _a lot_. Any judging I did, I felt, was a tad bit hypocritical.

Judgmental or not, I still thought the group leader was a priss. I mean, it's easy to say there's nothing wrong with not seeing when you don't know what it's like to do so, but when a person grows up knowing what sunsets and waterfalls and city skylines look like, there's no way they can look at blindness as anything _but _a handicap. At least I couldn't. To say I was a bit upset about my circumstances would be an understatement, and when Joe Smileyface started blabbering about how blindness was a _blessing_, I decided I had better things to do with my life than listen to his drivel.

My mother threw a bit of a fit when I told her I wasn't going back. She was rather unhappy about my uncharacteristically pessimistic attitude on the blindness issue, and she thought it would _do me good_ to continue attending the meetings.

I protested.

She said I was to go, whether I wanted to or not.

Generally, I'm a pretty obedient person. If it was anything else, I would've listened. Only this was a _big deal _to me, and I adamantly refused to waste my time 'learning to love my blindness.' As if that could ever happen in the first place.

That night, after my mother vehemently insisted I attend the stupid meetings, I sat in my room and seethed. I think a hundred different 'I will not obey' speeches floated through my head, all of them impressively rousing in their ferocity. Then I woke up the next morning, gathered the courage needed to face my mother... and wilted. I lowered my head and agreed to go to the stupid meetings, then returned to my room and started making up new speeches.

My mother never heard a single one of them. Before I knew it, Friday rolled around once more. Mother dropped me off in front of that accursed building, triple-checked with me that I could find the door by myself, and zoomed away.

There was a brief hesitation. I had to attend. I had _promised her _I would attend. It was only right. Maybe Joe Smileyface had gotten his head out of the clouds and would talk about something beyond the wonders of eternal darkness. I'd always been so optimistic before, _was _still optimistic about a lot of things. It wasn't very Serenity-like to give up on someone so quickly. He was probably a very good person, and-

-and there was no way I was going to another meeting.

I skipped.

Okay. I shouldn't have. Not only because it went against my mother's wishes, but because walking away from that building by myself, back before I was used to the whole 'not-seeing' thing, was _stupid_. I'm sure my hesitant, fearful presence practically screamed, _'Helpless little girl! Please mug me!'_

Miraculously, I _wasn't_ mugged and made it safely to my destination. Then again, it wasn't all that much of a journey in the first place; after maybe twenty feet of walking, I realized I was super-close to a library I'd visited back when I could see. I asked maybe three people for directions, realized I was right next to the thing, and got inside without suffering any major bodily harm.

So maybe going to a library_,_ of all places, wasn't my smartest idea ever. That first time, I wound up sitting by myself and doing nothing for over an hour. The funny thing was, _it_ _was_ _still better than the support group._

In fact, boring as it was, I did the same thing the next week. And the week after that, and the week after that.

As time passed, hiding in the library became _my_ _thing_. Eventually, I started bringing headphones and my mp3 player so I wouldn't look quite so purposeless. Sometimes I turned off the volume and listened to whatever I could hear. I'd make up stories that went with the shuffling of pages and whispered conversations, would sometimes pretend I was one of the 'normal' people, able to read books and browse the shelves like I used to.

After a while, I began to look forward to Friday afternoons. Since my vision faded completely, my mother had all but kept me on a leash. I wasn't let out of her sight hardly _ever_. When she went out to run errands, I went out to run errands. One of her friends wanted her to visit? _"Would you mind if poor, helpless Serenity tags along? I do so hate leaving her on her own." _

It didn't bother me. Much. It just got to be a little overwhelming sometimes, and soon, the library shifted from 'only viable option' to _sanctuary. _It was the one place I could be alone, with no one hovering over me or asking if I needed help with this or that, or talking about how awful it was that I couldn't see. I could _breathe _in the library, and I think that's why I kept coming back. Week after week.

As generally happens when one has a weekly routine, I quickly fell into a rhythm. I greeted the librarian. Found my way to my favorite chair in the very back corner of the building, right underneath a window so I could feel the sun on my face. Put my headphones on. Then _listened. _

It was simple, and comforting, and my single escape from the stifling eyes that were on me 24/7. Beautiful in its familiarity, the ritual provided a warm consistency that I came to count on.

_He _changed that.

It was my twenty-seventh week visiting the library. I remember because twenty-seven is my favorite number, and anyway, my mother had gloated on the way there. "Twenty-seven weeks," she'd said, "and you're still attending those meetings. I told you they'd be well worth it."

I felt a little bad about that. Actually, after she dropped me off, I hesitated outside the support group building for a few seconds longer than usual. _It wouldn't hurt_, I remember thinking. _One meeting. Then you won't feel so bad. _

Then that guy popped into my head, with his 'Not-seeing is totally wonderful' spiel, and I practically high-tailed it to the library. Okay. That was an overstatement. I slowly paced off the distance in my head, then felt my way to the door with my cane. Either way, any notion of possibly attending the support group vanished in thin air.

Once safely ensconced in the calm quiet of the library, I slowly maneuvered my way to my usual spot. It was, as always, empty. Finally, I was away from hovering mothers and pitying acquaintances. Feeling perhaps more enthusiasm than the occasion called for, I removed my backpack and rifled through the sparse contents, stopping when my fingers wrapped around my mp3 player. The library sounded unusually busy, so I kept the music off, opting instead to listen to the hum of activity around me.

I was listening closely enough, in fact, that I noticed the odd sound of approaching footsteps when they were still relatively far away. My corner of the library was rarely visited, and the few who did venture back to the ancient card catalogs never sounded quite like this. He- I was pretty sure whoever it was had men's dress shoes on- was so confident I could hear it. It was in the sharp clicking of his steps, like a military general marching into battle. He wasn't loud or anything; there was just a certain rhythm to the way he walked that projected immense self-confidence.

Admittedly, I was a bit surprised that the footfalls continuously got closer. Surprise faded to confusion when they stopped mere feet away from me, and confusion soon flared into annoyance at the sound of a chair getting pulled out on the other side of _my _table.

For a brief moment I considered asking if he could please find himself a different seat, but then the uncommon noise of the library flitted back into my head and I realized there likely weren't any empty tables.

I stayed silent.

It was _awkward. _I doubt he felt it, but for me, not being able to see this person so close to me, not having him speak with me, or acknowledge me, or even give me a concrete sign he was a guy- it was weird. I didn't feel like I was in danger or anything. I mean, there were people everywhere, and I wasn't getting any awful vibes off the man, but him being there... it was _different_. A different I wasn't necessarily comfortable with.

I will admit, that discomfort faded a bit after a while. The guy set about typing on a laptop and seemed relatively engrossed in that. Sometimes there'd be the sound of shuffling papers or the occasional tapping of fingers on the edge of the table, but nothing to make his presence overly obnoxious or unwanted. He didn't try to make conversation either, which I'd been kind of worried he would. In fact, he didn't so much as utter a single word. Between his silence and the new, somewhat different sounds that accompanied his presence, I soon decided that sharing my table wasn't so awful after all.

After some time, the clock tolled three. My mother would be coming to pick me up soon, and I had to make my way to the front of the support group building before she arrived. Oddly enough, I was somewhat reluctant to leave, despite the shattering of my routine. This person sitting across from me- he provided something _unique _in a life that was anything but. As much comfort as I took from the consistency of my time in the library, that single changing variable had almost been... nice.

Different, I realized, didn't mean bad, and being in the company of someone who didn't speak to me with pity, or hover, or even acknowledge me at all- it was a weird kind of _okay_. Not like I'd feared when he first sat down.

In fact, I _liked it. _

Of course, I didn't say any of this, didn't really give any hint at all that the man's presence was appreciated. Instead, I pulled off my headphones and put my things back into my bag, then grabbed my cane. Carefully, so as not to disrupt _him_, I slid out of my chair.

I couldn't help it. Before I left, I turned around, and in the general direction the typing was coming from, waved shyly.

"Have a nice day."

Then I ducked my head and turned to leave, but not before he grunted in acknowledgement.

It was a grunt that was very clearly _masculine. _

I'm still not sure why it made me so happy, but knowing that I'd guessed right when I identified him as a 'he', that I managed to get that little fact right without my mother spelling it out for me, was the high-point of my day.

…

He was already there when I arrived the next week. I wasn't sure at first, was kind of worried that my table had been taken over by an unwanted invader, but after listening a moment, I easily recognized the rapid-fire typing, tapping fingers, and oddly distinctive presence. Still... even if we had sat together the week before, I wasn't so sure he'd be all that accepting if I expressed my desire to do so again, especially not when the library was clearly less full and I'd surely find an empty table if I bothered to look. _  
_

The shy part of me was very much tempted to not even ask, to flee and find a new spot, but technically, it was _he _who was invading _my _territory, and besides, there was plenty of space for another person. It would have been perfectly acceptable for me to simply sit down.

I was too chicken to bring myself to take quite that much initiative. Rather, I ducked my head and fidgeted a bit, and then, after taking an embarrassingly long time to work up my courage, asked, "Is it okay if I sit here? I- I'll be very quiet."

"Hn."

I took that as an affirmative. Hesitantly, I brushed my hands over the table to make sure none of his possessions were occupying the space. When I found only plain wood, I took my seat and set my bag in front of me. My mp3 player was procured moments later.

Again, I didn't bother turning it on. The person across from me made a kind of music all his own, with his typing and tapping and whatnot. Besides, I had reason to listen to him. Somewhat more comfortable with his presence than I'd been the week before, I decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to give him a story. I'd created false lives and personalities for most everyone else I heard moving throughout the library; it only seemed natural I would do so with this man as well.

His rhythmic typing sounded quite professional, but his muttered reply to my earlier inquiry couldn't have belonged to a man older than twenty-five. In fact, he actually sounded younger, maybe Joey's age, but somehow I couldn't imagine Joey or any of his friends willingly coming to a library to do what sounded like _office work. _

With that in mind, I came to the conclusion that he was twenty-two. It seemed reasonable… A twenty-two-year-old who'd recently come into a new job. He needed the work… for some reason. _A wife. _Yes, he needed the work to support a new wife, and that's why he was working so diligently; he was desperately in need of his boss's approval, and because- because his boss was a bit of a perfectionist, nothing less than the best was good enough. Hence the rabid typing. That would also explain the silence. His complete concentration was crucial.

Hm. That still didn't explain why he was working in the library, of all places. Unless- maybe he had a noisy cubicle. I suppose that made sense. His workplace was too loud, and because his current assignment was so important, he'd asked his boss if he couldn't work somewhere else. The cramped little apartment he shared with his wife wasn't big enough, and so the library had been his next choice.

Except- no. None of that was right. Someone who walked like this person, who had so much presence- I couldn't imagine he'd be working desperately to suck up to a superior. Really, I couldn't much imagine him having a wife either. It was a pretty deep assumption to make given what little I knew about the guy, but he seemed so into what he was doing that I kind of pegged him as one of those 'married to his work' types. No normal person with such a young voice would be able to type half so quickly, and a guy willing to go to such lengths for his wife would likely be somewhat friendly. Going by the grunt I received in reply to my farewell the other day, I got the feeling that the man across from me wasn't the most conventionally nice person.

I couldn't help but smile a little. I wondered what he'd think, if he knew everything I was trying to assume about him off of practically nothing. A little part of me almost wanted to say something, to ask questions and see how ridiculous my story was, but that would be rude and I was awful at talking to strangers anyway, and to be quite honest, he would probably think I'd lost my mind.

So I stayed silent instead. He did also.

Soon enough, the clock tolled three, and I had to get up to leave. Again, I hesitated. Then, as I had the week before, I waved towards where it sounded like he was sitting and muttered a quiet, "Thank you."

Again, he grunted in reply.

I shot him a friendly smile, and then I was gone.

...

**Author's Note- **

**So... I haven't written in this fandom before. To be quite honest, I'm a bit unsure of it. I actually started this story with the intention of doing more of a character study on Kaiba, rather than making it a romance of any kind. Then I got a bit caught up on how everyone judges Seto Kaiba based on who he is, or previous experiences they've had with him; he isn't _just _himself to anyone. Which is where the idea of introducing a character who _doesn't _know him came from. **

**If I continue this, there'll be explanations for why Serenity is still blind, and what 'mystery man' is doing in the library, but feel free to ask questions about other stuff. I'm still debating whether or not to keep going with the story, but feedback and encouragement may play a part in influencing my decision.**

**Thanks for reading. **


	2. Chapter 2

His presence, an anomaly that had seemed so odd at first, soon became something to which I was accustomed. I'll admit, I hadn't thought his appearances at the library would be half so consistent as they were, but after a handful of weeks, it was simply expected he'd be there every Friday without fail. We never spoke beyond my one-sided greetings, but I would have missed him if he didn't come. In a way, our silence was as interwoven into my new routine as his consistent company. He was there, neither of us said a word, and that was that.

Then, a couple of months after he first showed up, our tentative understanding underwent an almost imperceptible change.

The day started out normally enough. As always, I evaded the support group building, found my way into the library, and selected my usual seat. He wasn't there yet, but that wasn't unusual. His timing wasn't exact by any means. He would come eventually. Of that, I was sure.

Satisfied with this conclusion, I took off my bag and began to search for my things. I was still in the process of doing so when I heard familiar footsteps, his walk as confident and distinctive as it had been the first day he showed up.

As he approached, I raised my head to offer a greeting, then stopped when I recognized that he was already speaking. Not to me, I realized, but- talking on a phone?

"I want my name off the roster, Roland." A pause. "I don't care. Von Schroeder's hosting, and I refuse to have anything to do with the bastard. I'm not going to compete. There'll be other opportunities. _Better _opportunities." More talking on the other end, and then he said, in a voice that left no room for argument, "After the last incident? Yes, I am willing."

With that, he shut his phone with a resounding _**clack**_. His footsteps were unusually brisk as he strode over to our table, and his breathing was annoyed and uneven. I said nothing, frozen in place as I came to terms with the fact that I'd not only just heard him speak for the first time, but had also caught a brief glimpse of his life outside the library.

Unfortunately, with this glimpse came an endless flood of questions.

What roster was he talking about? Who was Roland? Who was von Schroeder and why didn't this man like him? Compete in _what_? What kind of opportunities, and _what did he mean by 'the last incident'?_

It wasn't only the content of the call that caught my attention. The man's voice, so different than the grunts and mumbles he'd provided previously, was very, very distinctive. Low and hoarse and- I blushed when I thought it- somewhat attractive. It was also _powerful. _His every word left no room for argument, which was weird because the more the spoke, the more certain I became that he was younger than I'd originally thought. Not because he used slang or anything- honestly, he talked like a middle-aged businessman- but because something in his tone reminded me of Joey or Tristan; there was a kind of boyish quality that hadn't faded all the way.

I wanted to pry. To demand he tell me his age and what the phone call had been about, and, while he was at it, why he came to the library to do office work every week. Of course, I can hardly talk to strangers without tripping over my words, and I really wasn't the type to demand things of people I didn't know. Still... a little part of me wanted him to expand on what little I'd gleaned from that call, to take some of the mystery out of who he was.

Despite my curiosity, I refrained from launching an interrogation. I felt as if digging for information would break some unknown pact between us. I wouldn't have wanted him to start asking me inane personal questions, so I vowed to extend the same courtesy to him.

I couldn't help but say something though. It seemed appropriate. After hearing him speak so much, even if it wasn't directly to me, I felt inadequately quiet.

It took a moment to gather my courage. Another to think of what I wanted to say. Then, in a small voice, sure he was going to be angry at me for disrupting the silence, I asked, "A- are you okay?" I could feel his eyes snap to me. A second passed in silence. Sure he wasn't going to say anything, I awkwardly pressed, "You sounded upset."

That earned a low snort, and I relaxed somewhat. He wasn't going to ignore me. That was good.

"I'm fine."

The words were dismissive, but polite enough. Somehow satisfied now that I'd initiated that small exchange, I relaxed back into my chair and closed my eyes.

When three o'clock rolled around and I got up to leave, I was surprised that he was the first to speak.

"Until next week."

I smiled so broadly it almost hurt.

"Right. Next week."

…

I finally learned something about the man from the library.

He was a duelist.

On Monday, Joey stopped by our mother's house to give me a quick good-bye before he and Yugi left for a tournament in Germany. He said Zigfried von Schroeder was holding the competition at a really nice resort, and since Joey had such a high international ranking, his whole trip was paid for in full.

I started to congratulate him, to wish him good luck and say I was sure he'd win, but then the host's name clicked in my head.

Zigfried _**von Schroeder**._

Rather tactlessly, I jumped on the name, asking Joey who he was and if he knew the guy personally. Sounding somewhat frazzled, Joey reluctantly answered my questions. Apparently, Zigfried was the owner of a major gaming company in Germany. He and Joey had faced each other in a tournament the year before, and Zigfried had beat him badly.

"He was kicked out eventually, though," said Joey. "Not sure what happened, but there was a big fuss about rule breaking of some kind. He entered under a false name, but I bet there was more to it than that; the guy gave me the creeps."

I almost had to wonder if maybe Joey and my stranger had both been at the same tournament. Maybe whatever problem Zigfried caused was 'the incident' the guy from the library had been talking about. It made sense. Something bad enough to get kicked out of a Duel Monsters tournament sure seemed to qualify as 'an incident' anyway.

I almost wanted to ask my stranger about it, but I wasn't sure enough to feel comfortable doing so. Honestly, I didn't think I'd be comfortable speaking to him at all. Those few words we exchanged the week before were really nothing, and silence with him was so natural. I didn't want to chance ruining our Fridays.

The risk wasn't worth it, I decided. I'd keep my theories to myself.

...

As it turned out, I shouldn't have wasted my time debating whether or not to initiate a conversation. He did that for me, almost as soon as I entered the library. He was typing away as I approached, but stopped right when he noticed me. I could feel his eyes boring into my face as I went about getting settled in, impatiently waiting for me to sit down.

Once I was finally in place, I don't think he waited three seconds before speaking. Bluntly, as though we spoke all the time and this wasn't an abnormal occurrence in the least, he said, "You're Joey Wheeler's sister."

It wasn't a question either. He _stated _it.

For a long moment, I mulled this over. A lot of people knew Joey, but that didn't mean they'd recognize me. This definitely wasn't Tristan or Duke or Yugi, but those were the only friends of Joey's who would know who I was. I doubted any passing acquaintances even realized he had a sister.

"Yes, I am." I bit my lip. A single exchanging of words had marked the duration of our interaction the week before. The concept of extending a conversation past that point was a bit daunting to me, but I couldn't manage to hold back my curiosity. "Um. If you don't mind, how- how did you know that?"

I was a little surprised that he actually answered.

"Your brother was featured in a news article the other day; part of a tournament update for a Duel Monster's competition taking place this week. He mentioned a blind sister about your age. The librarian calls you 'Miss Wheeler' whenever you enter. It was a logical conclusion."

I made a face. I guess 'blind' was a relatively distinct adjective when used to describe seventeen-year-old girls.

"You concluded right, I guess." A hesitation. His question was answered. My question was answered. Did he want to start working now, or would it be okay to keep this going? I listened for a moment, waiting to hear the sound of clacking keys or scratching pens. When there wasn't any immediate noise, I cautiously ventured, "Do you know Joey?"

"I've met him once or twice."

"Dueling?" I realized that was somewhat vague, so I shyly elaborated, "I mean... I heard you on the phone last week, and you- er- um- you mentioned von Schroeder's tournament. So I just figured..."

"Yes."

"Huh?"

An exasperated sigh. I blushed beet red.

"_Yes_, I met your brother through the game of Duel Monsters."

"Oh."

I assumed that was it for the conversation; his tone on that last comment told me his patience for small talk was pretty much up. Not wanting to push anything, I reached for my bag, content to fall back into our usual silence.

His voice cut me off so abruptly I barely refrained from flinching.

"Why do you come here?"

"Pardon?"

"You're blind," he said, so bluntly I had half a mind to be offended. "You obviously don't read. What's the point in coming to the library if you do nothing but listen to music?" _  
_

He wasn't accusing me, I realized. As... well, aggressively as he'd phrased the question, I kind of got the impression that was just the way he spoke. I think he genuinely wanted to know the answer, even if his tone had been a bit demanding.

"Um. I'm, well... I guess I'm hiding." An indignant noise told me he wasn't satisfied with that. Shyly, I took a deep breath and tried to explain. "Every Friday at one o'clock, there's a support group- for people who can't see- held in a building near here. I went once, for about thirty seconds, and decided I'd be better off not going. My mom, she didn't like that so much, and rather than argue- I guess I started skipping. And coming here."

Silence. I was sure my face was on fire, embarrassed both at my somewhat silly reason for being in the library, as well as my obvious lack of ability to stand up to my mother. I could tell that my stranger wasn't the type to take orders- everything about him screamed 'in control'- and having so little power over something so simple was mortifying.

Honestly, I kind of assumed he'd think I was pathetic, not bother to reply, and never speak with me again. I was a bit relieved then, when he tonelessly asked, "Why did you leave?"

"The support group, you mean?" I think he nodded. He didn't correct me anyway, so I went on like I'd assumed right. "The man running it... he was, well- the first thing he said was that blindness wasn't a handicap."

"You believe it is?" Another toneless question. I almost had to wonder whether or not he really cared about my answer, but I didn't figure he would've bothered asking if he wasn't looking for a response. Talking for the sake of talking didn't seem to be his thing.

I decided to speak. If he wanted me to be quiet, I doubted he'd have any compunctions to telling me so.

"I guess." I swallowed nervously. "The guy- he hadn't seen before in his life. I don't think he understood what he was missing. I _do_, and I can't imagine ever thinking what happened to me is a 'blessing', not like he said." I exhaled and shook my head, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. I kind of-"

"You used to be able to see?"

The abrupt question almost made me laugh. He really had worse conversational skills than I did. He asked and said what he wanted without any concern as to my opinion of him. I think it would've dissuaded me, back before I lost my sight, but now I _liked _his candidness. It was refreshing, after hearing so many people sugarcoat everything they said to me.

"Until I was fourteen."

And that was that. He had nothing else to say, and I still wasn't quite comfortable enough to come up with a new topic. I picked up my headphones and mp3 player, and this time he didn't stop me. Before long, the sound of typing filled our isolated corner of the library, and we descended back into our familiar routine.

Three o'clock rolled around oddly soon, and I got up slowly, not quite willing to leave. Once on my feet, I waited for his usual 'Until next week.'

It never came. Instead, in a low, brusque voice, he said one of the last things I would have expected.

"You'll probably find this offensive, but I, for one, find your blindness a 'blessing'." A smirk. I couldn't see it, but it was in his voice. Along with an odd kind of honesty. Strange as his words were, I was pretty sure he wasn't lying.

"Um," I ventured tentatively. "Are you... ugl- _unattractive_ or something?"

"Or something."

I wanted him to expand on that frustratingly ambiguous statement, but I knew I had to leave if I wanted to beat my mother to the support group building. Shooting him a frustrated look, I hesitantly said, "Okay then..." Not knowing what else to say, I tacked on an awkward, "I guess I'll see you next week."

He _snorted_.

The sound was almost amused and maybe a little bit mocking, but once I realized what he was snorting at, I had to bite my tongue against letting out peals of laughter. Insensitive maybe, but his sense of humor was something unique, and by the time I got outside, I couldn't help but let out a slightly misplaced giggle.

I supposed I brought that one on myself. After all, I really wouldn't be _seeing _him at all.

...

**Author's Note- **

**Wow. I really hadn't been expecting half this much response when I wrote this. The encouragement was awesome; thanks for all the support, and I'm glad you seem to like the story so far. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. Writing thoughts and silence is easy, but sometimes bringing dialogue into stuff like this is more difficult. **

**Either way, it's the first sign of character progression, albeit a small one, so I'd love to know what you think, if you have any advice, etc. Thanks again for reading, and please recognize that even short comments are much appreciated. As of now, I've officially decided to continue this. Update times will vary, but I'm hoping it won't be much longer than a week. **


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello," I said that next Friday, looking in my stranger's direction when I heard him approach. I was somewhat nervous, unsure of where we stood after having an actual conversation the week before. I'd thought on it several times over the course of the past week but couldn't come up with a solid conclusion as to whether he planned for things to go back to the way they had been, or if the whole 'talking' thing was going to continue.

Eventually I decided I would take my cues from him. He came to the library to work after all, and even if I had enjoyed speaking with him, I didn't want to become an unwanted distraction.

I waited anxiously while he deposited his things on the table, biting my lip and trying not to look too nervous. I think he noticed my apprehension and moved more slowly than usual, wanting to see me squirm. His smirk was practically tangible.

Then, finally, he sat himself down and asked, "Is there a particular reason you're fidgeting like an overanxious puppy?"

I blinked, initially a tiny bit hurt by his tone. A second later though, I realized something, and the little frown I'd been wearing slowly curved into a pleased smile. I doubt he even realized it, but those words- that sentence- meant that something had changed between us: my stranger was willing to _speak to me_. So maybe he wasn't exactly initiating a friendly conversation, and maybe he'd been more than a little rude, but it was still better than the single-worded greetings and farewells we'd shared previously. Progress- no matter how questionable- had been made.

And I was ridiculously happy about it.

"You don't have to say 'overanxious puppy' like it's such a bad thing, you know," I said playfully, completely ignoring his question. I was more or less certain it was supposed to be rhetorical anyway. "I like dogs."

For some reason that made him snort out a laugh.

"Of course you do."

He fell silent after that. I listened closely while he went about getting out his laptop and other supplies, waiting for some sign that he'd want to keep talking.

He never did give one, but, funnily enough, I was completely fine with that. We'd spent weeks sitting in silence, and I had loved it. Just because things were slowly changing between us didn't mean I couldn't appreciate what they'd been like before.

Once I was sure he really didn't want to say anything more, I put on my headphones and leaned back in my chair, and we descended into the rich, wonderful silence I had grown so familiar with over the past weeks. I even opted to turn on my music instead of listen to his movements, finally relaxed enough around my stranger that I no longer found it necessary to focus constantly on him.

When the sound of the clock tolling reached my ears above the soft music, I got to my feet and gave him a small smile.

"Have a nice week."

The dry, "Doubtful," I received in response was so brief and cool and _him _that it made me laugh.

"If it makes you feel better," I said lightly, unable to help but try to improve his constantly-dour mood, "my mother's taking me shopping with a whole bunch of her friends tomorrow. Imagine sitting around for hours while middle-aged women chatter about ex-husbands and how much weight they think they've lost." My smile stretched a little bigger. "That ought to make whatever you're dreading seem a bit less awful."

He let out an amused exhale. I wasn't sure, but it sounded suspiciously like a repressed laugh.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, but his voice was just a tiny bit softer than it'd been before.

"You do that."

I left then, but I could feel him watching me as I walked out. And even though I'm not sure, a little part of me thought that maybe his gaze hadn't felt quite so oppressive as usual.

That possibility was enough to make my whole week.

…

My stranger was already there when I arrived that next Friday. Although he had beaten me to the library a handful of times before, it was a rare enough occurrence that I was more than a little startled by the sound of his rapid typing.

His polite, "How was shopping?" shocked me even further.

My eyes snapped up near to where his face would be, and I couldn't help but stare blindly in his direction for a very long moment, gaping like a fish.

"Pardon?" I finally blurted, unable to believe I'd heard properly. That he'd inquired about some inane event in my dreadfully boring life was shocking enough, but for him to have done so in such a non-demanding, almost civil manner was unbelievable. His voice hadn't even been cool or toneless… rather, he'd almost sounded _interested. _

It was impossible.

"Before you left last week? You talked about your mother taking you shopping," he prodded. I didn't have to be able to see to tell that he was looking at me like I'd drooled all over my shirt.

"R-right," I said. I tipped my head forward, letting my long hair fall around my face to hide the blush that was surely staining my cheeks. "Er. It was- well, about what I imagined it would be. I guess maybe not so bad as I'd thought. One of my mother's friends- she tried on clothes for me for about a half hour, asking how I thought she looked every time she put on something new. Her reaction when she realized what she was doing almost made the rest of the day bearable."

"You're kidding."

"Perfectly serious," I said. "I did feel a little bad though, about going along with it for so long. She was mortified."

"I expect she'll get over it eventually," he said, sounding appropriately amused.

Silence settled for a moment, and then I slowly asked, "What about you? You didn't seem to think you'd have all that great of a week. Was it better than you expected?"

"Startlingly," he replied, "yes."

I waited a second, listened for any signs that he wanted to stop talking- things like tapping fingers or shuffling feet, but there weren't any. He wasn't even messing with his computer.

I took this to mean that he wouldn't mind keeping up our conversation for a tiny bit longer.

"What were you so unenthused about anyway?"

"Business," he said evenly. "I was in America for most of the week, sitting in on talks with a potential partner."

Whatever I'd been expecting him to say, it wasn't that. For someone who sounded near Joey's age to have a position important enough to attend overseas meetings… it was unbelievable. My stranger had to have been brilliant.

Then again, he was dedicated enough to do office work _in the library_. Maybe him being a high-up businessman shouldn't have surprised me like it did.

It did surprise me though. Surprised me and impressed me. My eyes were a little too wide, and I think I sounded just a little more awed than I should have when I said, "I guess you're pretty good at this business-stuff, then."

I could feel the smirk he gave in response.

"I suppose you could say that."

"But… you don't like it? Or is just America you don't like?"

"I have no problem with my work, nor with America," he said. "My issue is with the imbeciles that attend the meetings. A baboon would have more sense than the gaggle of them put together."

I giggled despite myself. Little as I knew him, I couldn't help but think that statement fit my stranger _perfectly_. It was also beyond amusing to me, that Mister Cold, Blunt, and Brusque would be complaining about the people who had to deal with _him _on a daily basis.

Kind of made me wonder what kind of conversations they had behind his back.

"I can't imagine you're all that much of a joy to work with either," I joked, unable to help but smile. Just a little.

"That's hardly the point," he said. "_I_ can do my job properly. The same cannot be said for the idiots I was forced to deal with."

"It couldn't have been that bad though," I reminded him. "I mean, you said it was better than you expected. That's something, right?"

"A minor something."

"Meaning…?"

He huffed.

"_Meaning_ the only reason it wasn't as bad as it could have been is because the talks failed. Barring a few- hopefully rare- exceptions, I will not have to deal with those morons again."

I blinked, unsure I'd heard him correctly.

"You're happy the deal _didn't _work out?"

"Not happy." He paused. "More like… relieved that the other company had nothing to offer. If they'd been able to come up with better terms, talks would have continued, a deal might have eventually been made, and I would have had to tolerate those idiots for years to come."

That made slightly more sense.

"I guess I understand that… Um, if you don't mind, what company do you work for anyway?"

The question had seemed innocent enough, but for some reason I got the impression that it was the wrong thing to ask right as soon as the words left my mouth. My stranger hesitated palpably, very clearly not wanting to answer. Feeling absurdly guilty for evidently making a mistake of some sort, I opened my mouth to take the question back, to say _I_ _really don't care_ and _we can quit talking now_, but he spoke before I had the chance.

"Kaiba Corp."

I blinked.

Okay. Wow.

For a moment I was frozen at the name 'Kaiba', but then what he said really sunk in, and I couldn't help but wince sympathetically. It was on the tip of my tongue to say something along the lines of 'I'm sorry,' but I didn't want to accidentally offend him. I mean, my stranger might actually have liked his boss- he hadn't said anything bad about him anyway. Maybe it was only Joey and his friends that Mr. Kaiba treated so awfully.

That in mind, I decided it would be best simply not to say anything at all about the Kaiba Corp CEO.

"Oh, cool." Grasping for a way to continue the conversation, I asked the first question that came to mind. "Um… Can I ask who offered the partnership, or is that something you aren't allowed to tell me?"

"It isn't exactly a secret," he said. "Industrial Illusions. I'm sure you heard of them. They're-"

"-the company that makes Duel Monsters cards," I finished. "I do know that much. But, um…" I bit my lip, not wanting to sound like an idiot. After a second though, curiosity got the better of me, and I hesitantly asked, "Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?" he asked. "I wouldn't think the reasoning would be that complicated. Generally most businesses tend to make deals that would lead to profit increase."

I blushed beet red.

"No, that's not- I mean…" I took a deep breath and started over. "I always thought Kaiba Corp and Industrial Illusions already were partners. Almost everything Kaiba Corp sells is related to Duel Monsters, and… wouldn't that be illegal, if the two companies weren't working together?"

"Not necessarily."

I waited for him to elaborate, but he apparently had absolutely no plans to do so. Quiet stretched on for an awkwardly long time, until finally I couldn't help myself and nervously blurted, "Could… could you explain it to me?"

His eyes snapped to my face then, looking me over so intently I could feel it. It was disconcerting- knowing he was staring, but not being able to stare back. I dropped my gaze to the table, but it didn't make me the least bit more comfortable.

"Why on earth would I do that?" he asked finally. "What I do at my job doesn't concern you in the least."

"Well, no." I swallowed. "I am curious though. I mean, if you have to work, then it isn't a big deal, but I would like to know, and-"

"Quit blabbering." I clamped my mouth shut, and he let out an exasperated breath. "If you're honestly interested, I suppose I can waste a few minutes of my time." Without waiting for me to comment, he went on, "Your issue is that you misunderstand the business definition of a 'partnership'. It doesn't mean two companies working together. It means two or more _people_ working together to run a single enterprise. What Maximillion Pegasus wanted was to dissolve both separate companies and instead form a single, larger one."

"Oh." I made a face. Even though there was no reason I should have known any of that, I felt a little foolish for having to ask. "Um. What's wrong with that then? I mean, why didn't Kaiba Corp accept?"

"The official reason? Kaiba Corp's profit is nearly triple that of Industrial Illusions. If an agreement had been reached, the money would have be split evenly between partners."

"…And the nonofficial reason?" I thought on that for a second, and then answered my own question. "Well… Seto Kaiba and Maximillion Pegasus have a history, don't they? I mean, a bad one. That's what Joey told me anyway. Is… is that why he didn't accept? Other than the money thing."

"More or less," he said coolly.

"But…" I hesitated, worried I was making a bother of myself. He must've seen what I was thinking though, because he let out a resigned sigh and I could hear him move forward in his chair, like he was leaning a little closer to me.

"Whatever it is you wish to know- _ask_. I've already neglected my work from the moment you stepped foot in this place; I might as well ignore it completely."

While not reassuring in the conventional sense, his words did prompt me into speaking.

"Um, I just- If there isn't a partnership, how is Kaiba Corp able to sell Duel Monsters products?"

"Kaiba Corp can sell Duel Monsters products," he said, and I was relieved to hear that there wasn't any annoyance in his voice at all, "because Pegasus agreed to let it do so. He knew the technology would help his own business, and so he allowed it to be developed."

The answer was so uncomplicated that I wanted to kick myself.

"And you don't think _that _qualifies as a stupid question?"

"Given that there's little chance you've heard any of this before- _no. _It wasn't a stupid question." He paused. "Are you done interrogating me now, or would you like to know my whole life's story as well?"

"Well…"

"Sarcasm."

"_You_ might have been sarcastic, but I'm serious," I said. "I can't even _see _you. Your whole life's story might be a bit excessive, but couldn't you give me something personal? Just so I feel a little less blind around you."

"I don't do personal." Which really wasn't surprising in the least.

"Not even with a blind girl who can't possibly know who you are?" I prodded, albeit weakly. If he declined to respond, I knew I wouldn't keep on it, would apologize for asking and leave the matter alone. Knowing this- that it was the only time I'd allow myself to really ask my stranger about himself- I kept on with my string of logic. "I mean, I could be the most dishonest, untrustworthy person on the planet, and anything you tell me would be entirely safe. It isn't like I can spread dirty secrets about a nameless stranger."

He went silent at that. After a while, I decided he must've decided not to give me an answer at all, and sighing lightly, I picked up my headphones and put them on, turning the music up so I wouldn't keep listening for a reply he probably wasn't going to give.

I didn't care about that though- not really. We'd talked so much more than I could have hoped for. After thinking on it for a while, I even got to supposing that maybe he'd been giving me loads of personal information all along. While none of his business chat had centered on himself, the knowledge and confidence and passion that'd been infused into his voice while he spoke said _a lot._

It said so much, in fact, that I couldn't help but think he'd unwittingly given me a glimpse into one of the most important parts of his life.

Then he shocked me to the core and gave me even more.

It wasn't until I was getting ready to leave- after the clock had tolled and I was getting up to go. I gave him my usual smile and good-bye, and then, right before I turned around, he casually said, "I absolutely despise Oden." (_1)_

I beamed.

"Thank you," I said.

Of course, he snorted like it didn't matter. And it probably didn't to him.

To me though, that little piece of my stranger meant a lot. Enough that I couldn't help from grinning so big that, after my mother picked me up, she asked if there was anything wrong with me.

There wasn't. Anything wrong with me, I mean. I was just happy. Happy that he was talking to me, happy that something _new _was finally happening to me, and happy that, for the first time, it almost seemed possible that maybe, one day, my stranger and I might actually become something close to friends.

…

**Author's Note- **

**Yes, it's been over a month. I had an awful mix of writer's block, a very annoying broken finger (seriously, I broke a single frigging finger, and it made trying to type **_**so frustrating**_**), and lack of time in which to write. I'm back now though. Back, and confident that there won't be any more month long waits between updates. **

**I am sorry about that by the way. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this for so long, and I hope this chapter isn't a disappointment. I realize it's short, but there is tons of interaction so hopefully those two things balance each other out. **

**That's everything I think. I'd love to see what you think of the chapter- praise and criticism are both welcome. **

1-Oden is a Japanese, soup-type dish. It's listed as Seto Kaiba's least favorite food on the Yugioh Wiki.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few Fridays were really very… nice. There wasn't really any other way to describe them. The distance that had rested between my stranger and me for the first weeks of our acquaintance was still there, but it was softer somehow. While I still wasn't a hundred percent comfortable around him, I had gotten over my tendency to overanalyze our every conversation.

Anyhow, we didn't talk all that much in the first place. Not really. I got into the habit of asking how he was doing when he arrived, but that inquiry was generally met by a grunted, single-word response. Sometimes he'd say things- would give me toneless descriptions of a project he was working on or return my 'how are you doing?' question- but those instances were generally quite rare.

For the most part, our exchanges were little more than brief greetings and farewells. Same as before, except with a few actual words thrown in and maybe a smidgen of added interest on his part.

It was perfect. I wasn't a chatty person, and as much as I enjoyed talking with my stranger, I was also relieved that it wasn't an overly consistent thing. I dealt with noisy and obnoxious people too much as it was- from Joey and my mother, to whichever of Joey's friends decided to stop and see me in their free time. The little I did talk with my stranger didn't have any of that. It was simple and subtle and fantastic.

And, funnily enough, every second of silence was just as wonderful.

I think my stranger saw things the same way. Once, right before I left, he tonelessly informed me that he enjoyed my ability to stay quiet. He said that his brother- whom I hadn't known existed before that particular exchange- was rather loud, and that his workplace was always filled with activity, so the peace was nice. I told him I was used to the same thing, between Joey and my mother and whichever friends of theirs I was pushed into spending time with.

A bit of understanding passed between us then, after we'd shared that with each other. I left soon after and the subject wasn't ever brought up again, but that second of perfect harmony stuck with me. For the first time since I'd lost my sight, it'd felt like someone had _really gotten me_.

That was when I realized just how much I liked spending time with my stranger. What I had with him- it was comfortable and different and something more beautifully _stable _than I'd shared with anyone in a very long time.

Then a single variable shifted, and everything changed.

A very important variable.

The stability was erased, our routine disrupted.

And it all started because I missed a week.

…

It wasn't my fault.

Well…

Actually, yes.

It was.

Kind of.

Really, you're probably imagining that it was a huge, life-shaking event that kept me from going. In all reality, it wasn't anything like that- was something little and stupid and all but inconsequential.

It started on a Thursday. My mother had been too tired to make supper, so I got to digging around in the kitchen, hoping to run across a snack of some sort. I wasn't the most talented of persons at the whole 'being blind' thing- definitely wasn't practiced enough to properly fix a whole meal by myself- but I could usually manage to scrounge up a piece of fruit or a candy bar.

'Usually' being the operative term.

Honestly, I should have been more careful. Only, I _wasn't _careful at home, not hardly ever. I could get around my house just fine, knew the layout and everything well enough that I'd long since stopped using my cane or taking my time or anything blind people _really should do_. Then again, I would have been peachy if it wasn't for the… obstruction in the middle of the kitchen. I'm still not sure what it was, but a pair of shoes or a purse or something had been left on the floor, and I tripped over it and fell and sprained my wrist.

It wasn't that bad. I managed not to cry, and my mother got it wrapped and iced and gave me some painkillers until I could only feel a dull throbbing pain.

She still insisted I not go to my 'meeting' the next day.

I started out with a very logical protest: I was fine, I told her, and it wasn't like it was a major injury; therefore, why on earth wouldn't I be able to go? She responded by saying she didn't feel safe with me walking around, blind and injured. Suggested attending the meeting with me, to which I vehemently replied that I didn't want to look like a helpless little girl.

That's where things got ugly.

My mother shot back that I _was_ a helpless little girl, and so it really shouldn't concern me whether or not I looked like one. Which was a _huge _sore spot for me. Before I really thought on it, I heatedly responded by saying that I really wasn't so helpless as she thought, but if it made her feel like she was needed by _someone _in the family, she could go right on pretending whatever it was that helped her sleep at night.

At that point she started screaming, and I said something about how she was starting to sound like my father, which was very stupid and not really true at all, but growing up how I had, fighting made me nervous and I _panicked, _and after more screaming and foot-stomping on her part, all my anger was gone and I started crying and ran to my room and locked the door.

We didn't talk the next day. I opened my mouth once, to ask if she'd changed her mind about the 'meeting,' but her nasty glare shot me down before I could utter a word.

I returned to my room then, and spent the whole day fretting.

I didn't know how my stranger would respond to my not being there, and it made me anxious. A part of me hoped he wasn't concerned, that he wouldn't jump to conclusions and think I was really hurt or anything. Another part though- a rather selfish part- prayed that he missed me at least a little. The thought of him sitting there, typing away, and not hardly noticing I was gone made me a bit sick.

Little as I wanted him to actively worry, I didn't think I could stand it if he didn't care about my absence at all.

Me- _I cared. _I cared a lot that I wasn't there. I hated not spending the morning looking forward to our meeting, hated not hearing his low, cool voice respond to whatever greeting I gave him. I hate the oppressive silence in my house- despised how harsh the lack of sound was compared to the calming quiet that always hung between my stranger and me.

And, most of all, I hated my stranger's lack of _thereness_. His presence, his confident, impressive presence was absent for the first Friday in months, and silly as it was, it felt as though something very important were missing.

It was the longest Friday I'd experienced in a very long time. In fact, I found it bad enough that I swallowed my pride and apologized to my mother first thing that next morning, _needing _to make sure she wouldn't keep me home again.

She accepted my apology, and I visibly sighed in relief.

I'd missed a week, but so long as it wasn't any longer than that, things would be okay.

Or so I told myself.

…

The first thing I noticed about my stranger's footsteps that next Friday was that they were sharp with annoyance. For a brief moment I hoped that annoyance wasn't at me, but then he pulled his chair out a bit more roughly than normal, took a seat, and went about getting his work things out without so much as a single acknowledgement of my presence.

I opened my mouth, very much tempted to ask how he was doing, accept what I predicted would be a very short-tempered answer, and go about pretending nothing had happened.

That didn't feel right though- writing off my absence as nothing. It was a big deal. A _huge _deal. At least that's what it felt like to me. And it deserved some sort of explanation. Just so he understood that I hadn't ditched him- that my not being there hadn't been anything I could control.

But before I could explain, before I could tell him why I'd been gone, I had the feeling I owed him an apology for some reason I wasn't quite able to define.

Tentatively, worried he might snap at me, I managed a nervous, "I'm sorry."

I could feel his eyes snap to me instantly, heated and intense and so _tangible _and _visible _that it was almost like I could meet his gaze- like for a moment, I was just a little less blind.

"You weren't here," he said coolly.

Except there was more to it than that.

I hadn't warned him, hadn't suggested I might be gone. I'd simply not come. Which wasn't right- wasn't part of our silent agreement. And he hadn't liked it. A normal person wouldn't have been able to tell, but I'd gotten good at hearing nuances in voices- especially _his_ voice. Subtle as it was, there was some little emotion there.

Worry, perhaps.

Demand for an explanation, definitely.

Along with an unspoken, _I didn't know what'd happened to you. _

"I sprained my wrist," I said. Then, feeling as though my response had been inadequate, I added, "I still could have come, but my mother… she'd wanted me to stay home. So we argued about it." I ducked my head. "I lost."

Silence stretched on for some length of time, probably several minutes, until he shattered the quiet with a brusque, "Do you have a cell phone?"

It was the last thing I was expecting, and for a long moment I stared at him, unable to utter a word.

"Wheeler," he prodded.

Numbly, I reached into my bag and dug around until I found my outdated phone.

"But why-"

"I'm giving you my number," he cut in. "If something comes up during the week and you cannot come- call me. I would appreciate knowing the next time your mother decides to keep you home. If you do not come and I haven't received contact, I will assume that you walked into the path of a car on the way over here and are either dead or seriously injured."

For a long second, I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Finally I settled for simply extending my phone in his general direction. He immediately took it and, from what I could hear, started fiddling around in the menu.

"Can you get to the contacts' list?"

"Yeah." I thought of something- a weak attempt to figure out his identity. "I have all the name's counted out mentally though, so I'll need to know-"

"I typed a string of a's into the name slot; that way it'll be your first option. You won't have to count."

Shoot.

"Right…" I could feel his amusement, and a little part of me wanted to ask if he could tell me his name anyway. I didn't want to though- sensed that it was a topic I shouldn't approach, that he wouldn't answer me even if I were to do so. That in mind, I gave up on the issue. "Um. You should get my number too. In case you'll be gone or something."

"Already got it from your phone."

"You didn't type it into yours."

He snorted, as though the idea was absolutely ridiculous, and handed my phone back to me. "I have a good memory. I won't forget it."

He was so obviously brilliant that I wasn't a bit skeptical over him already having it memorized.

"If you say so."

A beat of quiet, once again broken by my stranger. This time with an indifferent, "What happened, exactly?"

"I tripped. Nothing any more extreme than that, thankfully. And anyhow, all that really came of it was the minor sprain, which only aches a bit now-"

He cleared his throat, and I snapped my mouth shut.

"Not what I was referring to."

Oh.

Unable to help myself, I shrunk back into my chair, the idea of discussing anything personal still scary to me even after so many weeks. "You're talking about the argument with my mother."

"Correct."

I hesitated, hoping he might take that as a sign to pull back the question. He didn't.

Probably, if I were to say I didn't want to talk about it, he would let the issue go. The problem was that I didn't _want _that to happen.

Nervous as I was to open up, I did want to talk about the fight. To tell him how frustrated my mother had made me and how much it hurt when she said I was a helpless little girl and how I'd panicked when the screaming started. I wanted to see if he'd understand and listen. Because there was really no one else I could talk to this stuff about- I didn't have friends my own age, Joey's friends probably didn't care, and Joey and our mother were on such shaky terms that I wouldn't ever say anything bad about her to him. He'd overreact and make things a million times worse.

For this particular situation, my stranger was my safest confident.

So I told him. I told him about my mother wanting to tag along to the 'meetings' to make sure I didn't hurt myself, and my response to that, and the argument that escalated from there. Tentatively I mentioned how things had been before the divorce and how much I hated fighting, and how I'd lost my composure and she'd started screaming. It was just a petty spat, I reiterated, but we both reacted awfully and things had gotten ugly really quickly.

"But comparing her to my dad- I shouldn't have done that," I admitted softly. I fidgeted in my seat, well aware that he was probably bored and maybe even a little annoyed that I was troubling him with all this. I couldn't quite bring myself to stop though. "He'd get drunk, and scream and throw things, and… and she hadn't been like that, at all. Except…"

I took a deep breath.

"Except I can't see, and I was scared, because… because she sounded like he had, when he'd do those things, and I had no way to know, to make sure she wasn't going to." A humorless chuckle escaped my throat. "That's silly though, because my mother isn't like him. We don't generally argue, and she hasn't ever done anything violent. She was just frustrated, and I said the wrong things, and we both made a really big deal out of nothing."

He didn't utter a word, and my cheeks turned bright red because I was sure I'd blathered on for too long. I shifted uneasily, waiting for him to snort and say something about how I really needed to control myself and talk less and that I was getting much too comfortable with him and probably needed a psychiatrist besides.

Only when he finally did get around to saying something, it wasn't anything like that at all.

"You are aware that your mother thinks you a 'helpless little girl' only because that is the impression you tend to give off?"

"Pardon?" I blurted, unable to keep from sounding completely affronted.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen…"

"Meaning you've been blind for four years." I tried to remember when I told him how long ago I'd lost my sight and found that I couldn't. He'd been right earlier, when he spoke of how impressive his memory was.

"Uh-huh," I said, even though I'm pretty sure he'd meant it to be a statement and not a question.

"And you still cannot function on your own."

Now that _hurt, _probably because of how painfully true it was. He hadn't spoken tauntingly or cruelly, but the meaning conveyed by his words was taunting and cruel enough.

"I don't see how," I said, speaking a little more harshly than usual to cover the injured tone I was sure laced my voice, "that has anything to do with what I told you."

"Don't you? From what I can tell, you are not attending university. You have no job. Your days are spent either with your mother or at home, and the only people you spend time with who are anywhere near your own age are your brother's friends. Given such evidence, I can see why your mother refuses to give you independence; you show no signs of being ready for it."

"I'm blind!" I hissed. "How am I supposed to meet people or do anything by myself when I always need someone around to help me!?"

"So you admit that you need your mother to constantly take care of you."

"Yes- wait, no. I mean-" I clamped my mouth shut, well aware that he'd just worked me into a hole. "That isn't the point!"

"Then what is?"

I had to think on that one for a while. My stranger was right. All that hovering my mother did was necessary. I disliked it and argued with her about it, but I would have been in very big trouble had she ever decided to listen to my complaints and back off. It was an annoyingly impossible predicament. I wanted space, but would've been totally lost were it given to me.

That wasn't my mother's fault. She was doing what she needed to do. The problem wasn't that she didn't give me enough freedom- it was that my stupid eyes made her suffocatingly constant presence necessary in the first place.

Which, I realized, was the real issue. My lack of sight.

"The point," I said, voice ringing with conviction, "is that I'm unable do anything because _I can't see._"

"And every blind person with a life or a job _can_?"

Another punch to the gut, this one completely unexpected. I stared slack-jawed, unable to believe he'd just said that, that he'd destroyed my previous conclusion in a ten word sentence that made so sickeningly much sense that I knew disputing it would be useless.

"But…" And I couldn't think of anything. No buts or excuses or claims. I wanted to tell him that I was different than all those other people, that I wasn't supposed to be blind. That if Yugi or Joey had won that single Duel Monster's tournament, I would be able to see. Except all those things were silly and senseless and I knew I was better off not saying them. Instead, reluctantly, I ducked my head and admitted, "You're right."

"Of course I'm right," he said, like there was no way he couldn't have been. "I'd rather you tell me what you plan to do about it."

Which stumped me. University was out- I'd struggled to graduate on schedule, even with all the disability programs, so higher education would probably be way beyond me. The idea of any kind of job scared me too- not that I had any idea what I could possibly do correctly anyway. Even trying to go out and meet people was scary, especially when I thought about trying to do so without my mother there.

Finally, I decided that there was no solution, and it would be best to simply conclude the conversation.

"Nothing," I said. "There is nothing I can do about it."

To which he sardonically replied, "And you're supposed to be related to _Joey Wheeler_? The duelist who finished in the top four of two separate tournaments he hadn't even been invited to. He must be _very proud_."

Very immaturely, I reached into my bag and pulled my headphones on, thereby ending our talk.

Unfortunately, the music didn't keep my stranger's words from rumbling through my head like a bulldozer. As I sat there, waiting for the clock to toll, I found myself acknowledging each and every argument he'd presented, each point he made that so wonderfully showed me how very much I was to blame for the bulk of my current situation.

By the time three o'clock rolled around, I couldn't help but concede that maybe, just maybe, I was a bit pathetic and wallowed too much and really needed to go about getting over something that happened four years ago.

"I'm going to talk with my mother," I muttered in my stranger's direction, loathe to let him know just how well bringing up Joey's name had worked. "See if she wouldn't be willing to help me start up a hobby, or get a job, or… or something."

He grunted an acknowledgement.

"And…um. Thank you. For listening and helping… not so much for understanding- you were awful at that... but still. I appreciate it."

My stranger's responding, "It was nothing," was so stiff and awkward and _shocked_ that, even though he'd all but torn me apart earlier, I couldn't help but laugh at him on my way out.

It was almost cute, how little experience he had dealing with gratitude. I almost wondered what he would have done if I'd hugged him...

Then I realized I was thinking about hugging my stranger. Which was awkward.

I pushed the notion from my head immediately.

...

**Author's Note- **

**Slightly shorter update time, but still longer than I'm hoping for. School started recently though, and much as I love a good education, it's really great at sucking up my time. ****That being said, I did get a relatively timely update, and it's my longest one yet. There's also tons of Seto/Serenity interaction, albeit a slightly different kind- I would love to know what you think about the more intense conversation by the way. I'm back and forth on it, but if there are too many negative reactions, I can always do tweaks. **

**Also, I failed at review replies last chapter. I promise I will do my best to get those going again this chapter. You guys are all great- I can't believe how successful this story has been so far- and you do deserve my recognition. Now that I'm a bit more used to the dent classes are going to leave on my schedule, I'll have more time to compose replies and let you know properly how much I appreciate every bit of support. **

**That's everything then. I'll do my best for a quick update, and I hope to hear what you guys thought of this chapter. **


	5. Chapter 5

My mother had set up my phone so I only had to press one button to get to the contacts screen. Because of how he'd entered his 'name', I was able to call my stranger by pushing only a single button after that.

It would have been unbelievably easy to dial his number. Several times, I found myself drifting into my room, grabbing the tiny contraption off my nightstand, and bringing up my list of contacts.

Then I'd realize what I was doing, scold myself for being an idiot, and set it back down.

I couldn't fathom how_ difficult _it was not to call him. I had to remind myself numerous times that he would think I was an idiot if I attempted to do so. After all, my place in his life consisted of two hour meetings every Friday afternoon. It was currently Monday. Therefore, I had no right to think he'd want to speak to me- that he even had _time _to speak with me. He was an important businessman after all, and was quite possibly even out of the country.

Still… I wanted to tell him. I so badly wanted to say something- even just a simple 'thank you'- before Friday.

Because I'd gotten a job, and it was all because of him.

Well, mostly.

See, the first thing I'd done after getting in the vehicle that previous Friday was apologize to my mother. I told her about how, in the 'support group,' they'd talked a lot about growing up and attitude and things like that- I admitted that I did need her, and was pretty close to helpless, and that I was sorry for talking back like I had.

Then I'd gone on to say that I wanted to work at being a little less helpless.

She was shocked speechless, and I really didn't blame her. After all my talk about how I wasn't supposed to be blind, and how I going to go along with learning how to do things the 'blind person way' because I wasn't like all those other people, my sudden change of heart was about the last thing she'd probably expected.

And the thing is, as overprotective as I'd sworn she was, she was _thrilled _when I told her I wanted to try doing more stuff. We talked on the way home, discussed different options, and eventually decided I'd have to start out doing something simple, with people I knew around so that I could ease into whatever it was I was going to try. Later on that evening, she'd called Joey to see if he couldn't think of anything that might work. I'd hovered in the background, praying he had something in mind.

Finally, my mother hung up and turned to me, and I was pretty sure she had a smile on her face.

That was when she told me about how Joey was going to take me to Yugi's that next day, so I could talk to his grandfather about getting a job at his shop.

Despite myself, a little part of me cringed away from the idea. I couldn't help but think that I'd hardly do any good in a store that mainly sold _painted cards._

Then I thought of my stranger and what he'd said about Joey- about how he'd placed so high in those tournaments when most people hadn't thought he stood a chance_- _and I decided that if my brother could come out on top against odds like that, then I could at least talk to Mr. Moto and see if we couldn't work something out.

That next morning, despite all my nerves, I forced myself to follow Joey out the door when he came to pick me up. He made things a lot easier for me too, going on about how proud he was of me for doing this, and mentioning that he'd already talked to Mr. Moto about what kind of stuff I could maybe help out with. He'd been so genuinely thrilled that I wouldn't have had the heart to back out, no matter how scared I'd been.

As it turned out, there wasn't any real reason to be frightened at all anyway. Mr. Moto had been super nice about everything. I even made sure to let him know that I was kind of clumsy, and reminded him of all the things I couldn't do, but he'd chuckled and said he would've kicked Yugi out a long time ago if clumsiness was such a problem. Then he went on to list everything he'd thought of that I _could _do.

Somehow, his list was a whole lot longer than mine.

Yugi- who'd been there the whole time too- added that he'd be glad for the extra help, and Mr. Moto tacked on that his grandson would show me how everything worked and would take care of all the stuff I couldn't handle. I told them that they were really being too nice, and asked if they were sure I didn't need to interview or anything. They both assured me that they were perfectly willing to help Joey's sister in any way they could, and little as I liked riding my brother's coattails onto my path to independence, I knew I wasn't going to get any other opportunities like what they were offering. Graciously, I thanked them again and said I'd be happy to take the job.

After that, the conversation got a little more boring- mainly a discussion of work hours (I made sure to let him know I wouldn't accept the job if he didn't give me Friday afternoons off) and weekly pay- but Mr. Moto kept it quick. Then he shooed me out of his shop and told me to be back Monday morning.

That evening, I gushed to my mother as though I'd accepted a marriage proposal rather than a job offer.

Honestly?

I think she wouldn't have been any more thrilled if it had been a marriage proposal.

Of course, despite how wonderfully thrilled I was after the 'interview,' the actual 'having a job' bit wasn't half so great. My mother dropped me off at the shop at least an hour earlier than when I usually woke up, and nothing very exciting happened after that. Yugi spent all morning telling me where stuff was before leaving me to memorize all the things he'd pointed out. After a half hour or so, he'd pop back up and quiz me on what I could remember, correct anything I'd gotten wrong, and repeat the process.

I understood how necessary it was, but the work made my head hurt. I think Yugi saw that too, because when Mr. Moto became available to run the counter, he suggested the two of us go back and start organizing boxes of newly arrived cards.

That wasn't much more entertaining, but it was nice enough. I hadn't ever really gotten to know Yugi, not with Joey and Tea being so outspoken at any gatherings I went to, so I enjoyed the one-on-one time with my brother's best friend. Yugi, it turned out, was almost as quiet as I was, and always kind and patient. Whenever I grabbed the wrong box or had to ask silly questions, he'd laugh off my concerns and gently help me with whatever it was I needed. Neither of us said all that much beyond that, but we were busy working, and anyway, it wasn't an awkward silence. I found it somewhat peaceful, even.

Actually, working in that room with Yugi was quieter than the time I spent in the library. There, my stranger was always typing or rustling papers, and whispered conversations and shutting books could be heard constantly in the background.

Funnily enough, I didn't like the silence in that back room half so much as I did the silence in the library.

It was an odd thought. Before, I'd been certain that I enjoyed the quiet moments with my stranger simply because they existed, because they represented a break from my noisy, hovering mother and brother. But after working in that back room with Yugi for a while, I came to realize that I'd been wrong about that the whole time.

It was my stranger's big, intimidating presence that made that time so special. Not the peace or quiet.

And I really didn't know what, exactly, that meant.

Thankfully it wasn't long before all the work in the back was finished up, and I was able to push the issue from my mind. When Yugi and I reappeared, Mr. Moto declared it time for lunch, and we all three ate in their home behind the store. Weird as it was to share a meal with people I wasn't especially familiar with, I also found it very nice. In any case, I suppose Mr. Moto's topics of conversation were certainly a lot more… '_unique'_ than what I- or probably most anyone else- was used to.

Yugi only worked a little bit after lunch, leaving early to go to the museum, where he apparently had something of an internship. Later, Mr. Moto told me that he actually wanted to be an Egyptologist once he was finished with competitive Duel Monsters, and that putting so much time in at the museum was his way of staying involved in the field until he was ready to put aside his cards and take the time for further schooling.

When I asked why Yugi was so interested in Egypt, Mr. Moto started telling me about where, exactly, Pegasus had gotten the idea for Duel Monsters. He didn't get very far into the story- between working to teach me where everything was at and dealing with customers, there wasn't much time for talking- but what he did say was interesting enough to help the work pass a little faster.

I was still rather relieved when my mother finally came to pick me up. I was tired and had a headache and entirely sure I'd spent most of my day trying to memorize display placements that I'd forget before the next morning. After doing so little for so long, actually working was _hard. _

The thing was though, it also felt so, _so _good. Like I'd done something I should be really proud of, no matter how simplistic my job was. Because simplistic or not, _it was a job_, and knowing that I'd done it, that I was now employed, was a huge dealto me.

Which was why, from the moment I'd gotten home from work, I'd found myself wanting to call my stranger.

I didn't know if he'd be proud of me, wasn't sure if he'd even care. He'd certainly made it clear that he thought I needed to do something with my life, but did that mean he'd have the least desire to know what, exactly, I'd done? And happy as I was with myself, did he really have any reason to be happy for me as well?

Much as I wanted him to know I'd taken his advice, as badly as I wanted to thank him for giving me the push to get the job, I was scared to do so because, well… what if he really didn't want to know? If he thought I was silly and clingy and pathetic for wanting to tell him?

I mean, he was a hugely successful businessman, and probably busy, and likely _didn't care_.

Except he wouldn't have bothered saying I needed a job if he didn't care whether or not I'd go out and get one…

Right?

I wasn't sure, really had no idea what he might think. It would probably be best to simply wait until Friday. Just four days. Then I could tell him.

But four days felt like such a very, very long time.

It was his idea that'd prompted me to find a job, after all, and not letting him know about it felt wrong. And anyway, it would be a brief call. I would even ask if he had time to talk, and if he didn't, I would say it wasn't important and could wait until Friday.

Then again… he hadn't given me his number to make social calls. He'd given it to me for one specific reason. Telling him about my newfound job, big of news as that was, had nothing to do with whether or not I was going to be at the library that Friday.

Surely it could be considered an exception though.

Maybe.

But if I was wrong, he might think I was abusing the privilege of possessing his phone number.

Still… it was unlikely that one call could do too much damage, that he'd give up speaking to me entirely because I made a single mistake…

It was right about then that I decided I was tired of thinking myself in circles, took a deep breath, and pressed the call button before I drove myself insane.

Despite my nerves, I still found it in me to hope he wouldn't recognize my number, that he'd answer the phone by saying who he was. Businessmen did that, after all, and if he thought it was an unfamiliar caller, he might introduce himself-

"What's going on, Wheeler?"

Or not.

I fidgeted. It was disconcerting, hearing his voice outside of the library.

"Um, I was just-" _Calm down. He doesn't sound mad. Doesn't even seem to be annoyed. _"Do you have a moment? Not long. Just thirty seconds- a minute at the most."

"Given that I doubt you're stupid enough to waste my time dribbling about something I don't care to hear, yes. I can spare a minute."

I sighed in relief.

"I… Well, first, I'm sorry I used your number to call you about something that doesn't involve whether or not I'll be there this Friday. I won't make a habit of it though, since you obviously have better things to do than talk with me, but it's just, I wanted to tell you- thought you should know-"

"_Thirty seconds_."

I didn't think he was really timing me, but I got his point. _Spit it out_.

"I got a job."

Silence on the other end, and then, "You had said you were going to talk to your mother about doing so."

"And I did- I talked to her about it right as soon as I left the library," I said. "And then she called Joey, and you know who Yugi Moto is, right?"

"What do you think?"

Which, of course, made me blush beet red. My stranger was a duelist who worked for a company that produced Duel Monsters-based technology. He would have had to have been a blind, deaf hermit not to have heard of the King of Games.

"Right, sorry. It's- well, Joey talked to Yugi, who talked to his grandfather, who owns this little game shop. And Mr. Moto, he said he'd love to have me work for him. Joey took me down there so we could get all the details worked out, and everything turned out perfectly. I even started already- today was my first day. I didn't do much- helped Yugi organize boxes, and then spent a lot of time memorizing the layout of the store, but-"

"You're working with Yugi Moto?"

Which hardly surprised me, that a duelist would focus on me and Yugi working together.

"Yeah. It's nice- he's surprisingly quiet, despite being so popular and everything." I paused, and then, thinking of working in the back room and the silence that hadn't felt quite right, couldn't help but add, "You're better company though."

The indignant snort that followed was so undignified it had to have come out unwillingly, which I found very, very odd. Why in the world would my stranger find what I said so surprising? Sure, he wasn't the most likable of people, but I'd willingly placed myself in his presence near every week for the last several months. Was it really that unbelievable, then, that I'd think he was better company than someone I'd only worked with for a single day?

"What?" I asked. "You sound skeptical."

"Yugi Moto has a reputation for being very likable," he responded dryly. "I'd be hard-pressed to find a single person who finds me so much as tolerable."

"I like you well enough," I argued, which was true. He was a jerk, and frustrating, and sometimes a bit colder than I would have appreciated, but I'd liked him well enough almost right from the start. "Yugi is infinitely nicer than you are, but that doesn't necessarily equate to better. For one, I highly doubt Yugi would have had it in him to give me the motivation I needed to go out and find a job."

I paused, then found myself adding, "I want to thank you for that, by the way. A job in a game shop isn't exactly a huge step forward, and I can't say how long this enthusiasm I've got is going to last, but- well, I still appreciate that you gave me enough incentive to do _something_."

"It's business," he replied gruffly. "Trying to get the most productivity out of any one employee."

"Yeah," I said, smiling. "But I don't work for Kaiba Corp. It wasn't your job. You didn't have to pay attention to me, didn't have to try making sense of my whining, or anything like that, so don't try writing it off. I'm not sure why you did help me, but I don't want an explanation; a simple 'you're welcome' would be perfectly fine."

He exhaled, then reluctantly said, "You're welcome."

"Good." I realized then that we'd been talking for a lot longer than I said we'd be. "Now, er… I should probably let you go. I just wanted to tell you about my job, and to thank you-"

"Did finding work help with your mother?"

I smiled so big that it hurt.

"Yeah," I said, trying not to sound too giddy at the prospect of extending our chat. "It helped a lot. Joey was real happy too."

"And what about you? Are you happy with your choice?"

"Well… it's only been a day," I reminded him, "so I'm not all that sure yet. It did feel nice though, doing something I could almost be proud of. The work itself wasn't so exciting, not when I'm so used to being lazy all the time, but that'll probably get easier after a while. And Mr. Moto and Yugi are both great, which helps."

"That's… good," he said awkwardly, obviously not half so good with praise as with criticism.

"Yeah…" Somewhat embarrassedly, I added, "I made sure to get Friday afternoons off too. I told Mr. Moto it was for something extremely important."

"Wheeler?"

"Yeah?"

"…it's been eleven minutes."

Which hadn't been what he was going to say initially, I was almost sure of it. I knew pushing wouldn't do any good though, and it probably wasn't anything important anyhow. Curious as I was, I knew it'd be best to let it go.

"Alright then," I said, like I hadn't noticed how oddly he'd spoken that last line. "I'll leave you to your work then."

"Ten minutes later than you promised."

"Were you actually timing…?"

"There's a clock in my office."

I blinked.

"You're in your office? It's nearly seven o'clock."

"I have an office at home."

"Then why do you bother going to the library?"

"A deal I made with my brother," he admitted. "I'm to spend at least three consecutive hours each week 'relaxing', so long as he puts more effort into his schooling."

That was so _not _what I expected that I couldn't help but laugh. His younger brother had essentially exiled him from his job. Brilliant.

"So you go to the library to do work without getting caught?"

"More or less."

"But why always at the same time?"

A hesitation, and then: "I appreciate consistency; the first week after I made the deal, I found myself with three consecutive hours to spare on a Friday afternoon. I decided the time worked well enough, and so have continued to use it."

"Lucky for me, I guess."

"I could count on one hand how many other people on this planet could have said that without sarcasm."

I laughed, unable to help myself.

"You know, if you're so aware that people don't like you, why not… I don't know. Try for a brighter personality?" I thought on that for a second, realized how disturbing my stranger would be with a 'bright personality,' and amended, "On second thought, don't. That would be too weird. I like you just fine when you act like a jerk."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and then, in a voice oozing with sarcasm, replied, "You like me… as a jerk."

I cringed, realizing how that probably sounded; 'jerk' really hadn't been the best word to use.

"I s'pose I could have phrased that more elegantly," I allowed. "How about this? I like you as a cocky, sardonic, very intimidating business person. That's a bit more accurate. And true. You've grown on me, I guess."

A loud swallow, and then:

"…fourteen minutes. You're dragging out the conversation."

"But-"

"_Good-bye_, Wheeler."

And then he hung up.

…

**Author's Note- **

**Just over a week. This chapter came really easy for whatever reason, and although it's a little different than the others- no library time at all- there's also a nice chunk of Seto/Serenity interaction, so I hope that makes up for it. You guys were wonderful about reviewing last chapter, and I really hope you keep it up for this one. I'd love to hear what you think about Serenity's job and the phone call. **

**I'll try to update again as soon as possible. Thanks so much for reading. **


	6. Chapter 6

To say that I picked up my work quickly would be an understatement. It didn't take me very long at all to get a good idea of everything I was supposed to do, and so long as Yugi and Mr. Moto confined me to relatively simple stuff, I did really well. After the first couple days, I had a good enough concept of where everything was that I could help put things away or resort shelves without messing up too badly. Whenever I did get something wrong, Yugi would always correct me with kind words and a smile in his voice.

I fell into an almost instant rhythm, and Friday rolled around before I knew it. The good mood that working had built up over the course of the week reached its peak, and it was with an enormous smile on my face that I finally made my way into the library and relaxed back into my seat.

My stranger arrived only minutes later, and I could hear him pause after stopping in front of me.

"You look happy," he said.

I beamed back at him.

"I am."

"…your job is going well then?"

"Better than the first day. There's still stuff I have to learn, but I've got the important things down."

"Good."

"Thank you again. For encouraging me."

So maybe 'encouraging' was a bit of a euphemism. The results were the same, and anyway, my stranger apparently didn't see fit to correct me.

"Uh-huh," he said instead.

And then he started working, and I started listening to music, and the afternoon passed in beautiful silence.

…

The next few weeks flew by with a surprising ease. I grew into my job really well and developed a loose friendship with both Yugi and his grandfather. While I knew Yugi and I probably wouldn't ever be close friends, not when we were both as withdrawn as we were and certainly not when he was already so tightly grouped with Téa and Tristan and Joey, we did work really well together, and I enjoyed the time I spent with him.

Fridays remained wonderful as they had been. My stranger and I, for lack of anything substantial to talk about, spent most of our time together in silence. But that was okay. It was nice, and not forced, and I was happy with it.

Then everything became scrambled all over again.

My stranger was already waiting when I arrived that week, a little over a month after I first got my job, and I could tell he was agitated; the usual brisk tapping of his fingers on the table was a lot more forceful than usual- like he had an overabundance of pent up energy- and when I first approached, his eyes fixed on me with a strange intensity I wasn't used to. There was an edge of impatience to his gaze too, like he was waiting for me to sit down…

…which of course made me trip and stumble and take a lot longer to get settled than usual.

Only when I did finally manage to get myself seated, he just kept staring- didn't comment at all on why he was behaving so oddly.

"Um… hello," I said, and then waited, hoping he'd use the silence as an opportunity to tell me what was wrong.

He didn't. Instead he grunted. And sat there. Watching me.

I coughed awkwardly.

"I may not be able to see," I said, "but I can still tell that you're staring at me."

A slightly uncomfortable noise was made in reply, and then he made a point to start typing, although I could feel his eyes shift up to me every few seconds. I was pretty sure the gesture would have been subtle enough that a normal person wouldn't have noticed, but my senses were attuned to him almost ridiculously well. My stranger was definitely discomfited about something, no matter how sneaky he thought he was being about it.

For the longest time, I sat there in my seat, not bothering to listen to music or turn my attention elsewhere because it really, really felt like something was bound to happen at some point. I guess I figured I might as well wait around for whatever it was.

And I was right; after only a few minutes, my stranger stopped typing and pushed his laptop out of the way.

"You have an older brother," he said plainly.

Which was super random. Then again, my stranger never seemed to lead into conversations like normal people; he started in the middle, probably because he was too impatient to bother with anything except the really important stuff.

That in mind, I ignored the oddness of his statement and went along with it.

"Yeah…"

"If he were to… say something that damaged your relationship, what would you expect from him before offering forgiveness?"

"Are you… talking about you and your brother?" I asked slowly, entirely unable to wrap my head around the completely unexpected words that'd just come out of his mouth.

"What in the hell do you think, Wheeler?" he snapped uncomfortably.

In other words, _yes. _He was talking about him and his brother.

I blinked.

I'm not entirely sure what I'd actually expected to be the cause of my stranger's odd behavior, but something like _that _had certainly not been it. He talked about his personal life so little it hardly felt like he even had one.

And now he was apparently asking me to help him with some problem about a brother I didn't even know. The fact that he was talking about his brother at all, that he'd even considered bringing an issue between the two up with me… that had me worried. Because if the problem wasn't at least somewhat serious, he probably would have worked it out himself.

Very carefully, wary about giving cruddy advice and making bad use of the trust he was giving me, I said, "Generally? I would expect an apology."

I think he shook his head.

"_I tried that_."

He sounded so desperate that I wanted to hug him. I'd kind of guessed at it before because there'd been an odd kind of fondness in his voice the few times he'd talked about his brother, but it wasn't until I heard the hollowness in those three words that I realized just how close the two were.

It shocked me to the core. I'd never thought it in a bad way, but I'd always kind of assumed my stranger didn't care about much besides his work. It'd always seemed like that, anyway.

Except apparently that wasn't true, because even though he was being cool and distant and trying not to sound upset about it, whatever it was that was going on with his brother clearly had him genuinely worried.

I was somewhat surprised to realize how worried that made _me_. My stranger wasn't the type of person who showed any emotion _at all_. The fact that some little cracks were showing… it drove me insane. And even though it was probably an older sibling overreaction- Joey had those _all the time_- I really, _really_ wanted wanted to make him feel better.

So much so that the concern in my voice was more obvious than I would have liked when I ventured, "…can I ask what it is you're sorry for?"

My enquiry was met with a sharp, defensive, "_No_."

I took a deep breath.

"Um. I don't know how much help I'll be then, but…" I hesitated, but his eyes were fixed on my face, obviously interested, and I found myself compelled to continue. Another deep breath, and I went on, "When we were younger, Joey… sometimes messed up at being a brother. And whenever he'd realize it, he would set aside a whole day, and we'd spend it together. I always complained because I was so mad at him, but he dragged me with him anyway… We'd always go to this special beach- _our _special beach- and he'd talk with me a whole bunch. Not about what he'd done wrong, but just about stuff- you know, to show he did care.

"Afterwards we went downtown or to the movies, and then we'd go to the park and lay on the grass by each other for _hours_, and everything would slowly become okay again. Before he dropped me off at our mother's, he'd try to explain and apologize for whatever it was he'd done, and even if I didn't forgive him entirely, it helped make me a lot less angry." I ducked my head. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... maybe you just need to spend time with your brother. Or something."

A long silence, and then: "What on earth would _perfect_ Joey Wheeler do to get so far on your bad side?"

I bristled.

"I hardly think that's relevant," I said heatedly, because it _wasn't_. Not in the least.

"Of course not," he muttered bitterly. Then, slightly more resigned, "Just spending time with him _won't be enough." _

My annoyance faded somewhat at his somewhat softer tone; he wasn't trying to be a jerk. He was just upset.

"Maybe if you could tell me what it was you said to him…" I tried again, this time cautiously, expecting him to snap.

He didn't. He seemed to chew it over for a really long time, and then exhaled sharply before speaking, each word dragging from his lips like he had to force them all out individually.

"My brother has been going out with a girl for some months now, and he recently attempted to tell me he loved her." He snorted, like the very idea of loving someone was ridiculous. "I heavily implied that he was an idiot… and when he attempted to defend himself, I cut him off and said that he should break up with her- I said that she would do nothing but hurt him." There was enough disgust in his voice that it even made _me _cringe- even more so because I think it was all directed at himself. Bitterly, he went on, "…I said that caring for anyone else was nothing more than a weakness." A swallow. "And then he replied that I had no way of knowing that, given that I care for _no one but myself_."

"He didn't mean-"

"I know he didn't mean it," said my stranger sharply. "But I'd already lost my temper. I _hate _the idea of my brother having a girlfriend, and so the conversation was grating on me as it was. After he said that- after _my own damn brother _said that about me- I lost it. I told him my life would have been a lot fucking easier if it were true- if I could have made myself not care about him."

I cringed, but tried to stay positive.

"They was just words. I'm sure it isn't so bad…"

"No. They weren't _just _words." He gritted his teeth loudly enough that I could hear it, and then plodded on, almost sounding as though he were doing so against his will. "Our parents are dead- and don't you dare say 'I'm sorry,' because I will get up and leave and _never _come back if you do." I flinched like he'd slapped me. Apparently satisfied at the reaction, he went on, "We were adopted after some time in an orphanage, but our stepfather… he killed himself and I'm _glad_ that he did. And I've been with my brother through _all of it. _I'm _the only family he has. _The. Only. Family."

The only family…

And he'd implied to his brother that he didn't want him- that his life would have been easier if he hadn't cared enough to watch out for him.

Oh.

For a long moment, I really honestly didn't know what to say, but I had to find something, and so after a few seconds of reaching, of searching for even a few little words that could make him feel better, I managed a soft, "You know he doesn't _really _believe that."

"You didn't see the look on his face when I said it. He believed it. I've already caused him more pain than he could ever forgive, and blatantly saying I regret caring for him- _that _was the final straw."

I shook my head. "That isn't true."

"You can't know that."

I could feel he wasn't going to accept anything I was going to say, and so reluctantly, I decided to change tactics.

"I'm going to tell you something, because I really, really think you need to hear it… But you have to promise not to tell anyone else. _Please_ promise."

"_What_?"

"_Please_."

"Fine." I waited. Annoyed, he snapped, almost mockingly, "_I promise_."

And I trusted him enough, for whatever reason, to start speaking.

"When I told you about how awful my father was and about my parents' divorce, and… and all that, I didn't tell you that my mother didn't get custody of Joey. At first I thought it was a money thing, but later on I realized it was because she was scared he was already hopeless- just like our father. She'd left him behind. Willingly. And because she made it so clear she thought he wasn't any different than our dad, Joey started acting just like him."

I dropped my gaze to my lap; even though the gesture had turned meaningless, it still made me feel less exposed. My stranger might have been able to unload his problems on me without having to worry about secrets and potential embarrassment or getting hurt because I had no idea who he was, but he knew my name, knew who Joey was. I was taking a risk by saying all this, was trusting him _big time_, and I hated how vulnerable it made me feel.

"My mother… she tried to keep me away from Joey after that. It didn't work. And most of the time, when we saw each other, it was fine. We were fine. Then Joey started _changing_. He fell into really bad stuff, and at one point, when we arranged to meet outside of school, he showed up drunk. Ever since we were little, Joey took a lot of hits from our father so me and my mother didn't have to, and… I hadn't even known, I was so stupid and innocent. But he spit all that out then- about how he'd done so much to protect us, and we'd left him behind. And then he'd said it was my fault the divorce happened in the first place. That half the reason the family fell apart was because of my eyes and all the money our parents put into trying to fix them."

I took a shaky breath. "After that, he took me to our beach, spent the whole day afterwards with me to say he was sorry. And I accepted the apology. A few weeks later, he messed up again- said nasty things… and that wasn't the last time either. There were other things too- stuff I heard about Joey getting into fights and hurting our father and- and things like that. But he always kept trying to be better, always went out of his way to let me know how sorry he was for every single time he messed up. And I _always forgave him_. Because siblings do stupid things and say stupid things, but they forgive each other too-"

"Does your brother still treat you like that?" he cut in, voice hard. "I'll kill him-"

"No," I blurted quickly. I shook my head. "He's changed. I mean, he was still bad for a while. But then he started spending most of his evenings over at Tristan's house- one of his friends-"

"I know who Tristan Taylor is," he said irritably. But he sounded calmer.

"Right… Anyway, he got away from our dad, which helped _a lot_. And when he met Yugi, he straightened out all the way. But that's not the point." I forced a smile. "The point is that your brother might be mad for a while, and he's probably going to be pretty hurt too, but if you explain everything and apologize, he'll understand… If you're half as close to each other as it sounds, anyway." I remembered what else he'd said and added, "And whatever pain you think you caused him before- that stuff probably doesn't even register to him anymore… it's in the past. Not important. Siblings don't keep tally on each other's mistakes."

He chewed that over for a long moment. After a little while, I could almost feel him relax- could tell when he accepted what I said.

Then, awkwardly, instead of an actual thank you: "You feel bad about what happened with your brother."

"Huh?"

"When you were talking about how your brother took hits for you and your mother- it sounded like you regret _that_… like you wish you could have taken the hits instead," said my stranger lowly, like he didn't accidently want anyone to overhear him saying something so emotionally charged. "But I can guarantee your brother doesn't regret a thing. And he'd hate it if he knew you still felt guilty that he _chose _to protect you."

I started to argue, but something he'd said before clicked in my head. About how he was glad his stepfather had killed himself.

"When you were adopted… the man who took you in…?"

He made a terse noise of confirmation.

I took a moment to let that sink in, and then, fondly: "So you're like your brother's Joey."

"Do _not _take it that far," he said, but the snappishness that had been in his voice before wasn't quite so harsh anymore.

For a long while after that, neither of us said anything. The silence was weird- a lot more tense and charged than I was used to between us. Uncomfortable, almost. Border-lining awkward.

Finally, my stranger broke it. In his usual unaffected tones, he coolly said, "Your advice may not have been _entirely_ foolish."

And suddenly things were back to normal.

"You're welcome," I said somewhat sarcastically, and then we fell back into our normal silence.

There was something different about it though- something _warmer _hanging in the air between us.

And when three o'clock finally rolled around, I couldn't help myself. I got out of my chair and cautiously made my way over to where my stranger was sitting, and I hugged him.

He stiffened like my touch was poisonous, and I could almost hear him get ready to snap at me, but then something clicked and he relaxed, and I was able to close my eyes and for just a second feel like I was maybe giving him some degree of comfort. It felt nice on my end, too. He was skinnier than I'd expected- although that shouldn't have been surprising, since he probably spent most of his days in an office- but warm and solid, and he smelled good- like parchment and cologne.

I let go after just a second though, because he so obviously wasn't used to people getting close to him and didn't seem entirely comfortable with it, even after he stopped bristling like an angry dog.

"_What the hell, Wheeler_!?"

Only he sounded more thrown off balance than anything, so I ignored the question and smiled at him.

"Good luck with your brother… if it isn't too much to ask, maybe call me sometime this week. So I know if things turn out okay."

"_What_?"

"Only if you have time," I corrected quickly, blushing. I realized that I was still standing close to him and took a small step back. "I mean, I'm not trying to be pushy or stick my nose in your business, but- it would make me worry less. Not that that's your problem. I just… um. Never mind."

He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything.

Then: "I should go. My mother…"

"Of course."

"Until next week…"

"Right. "

It didn't feel like I should leave like that though. We'd both just exchanged _a lot_. I hadn't even told my mother about what'd happened with Joey, and I had a feeling telling me as much as he had about his brother had been super hard for him too.

Just _walking away_ after all that felt wrong.

Only, after I thought on it a second, I realized that maybe it wasn't so wrong after all. There really wasn't anything to say. Even if he hadn't warned me against saying 'I'm sorry,' I would have avoided the words like the plague. After losing my eyesight, I'd grown to _hate _that phrase. Nothing else was really suitable either. Surprising and emotional and unexpected as everything he told me was, his story wasn't the kind a person could soften with a few encouraging words.

It was simply something to absorb and accept and move on from.

And so I gave him one last encouraging smile, and then I left.

…

...

**Author's Note: **

**Crap. Really didn't expect the update to be that long, but I think I must've rewritten this chapter four or five times. At first I wasn't sure that it wasn't too early for them to say so much, and then the first two scenes I wrote were soppy and out of character, and finally, this last time around, I took a little more time and hopefully managed to keep it relatively IC. Of course, Seto Kaiba talking about his feelings at all is going to be somewhat of a stretch, but I did try to find a situation that would be at least somewhat realistic. **

**Also, because I'm thinking someone might comment on the fact that I turned Joey into something of a bad guy: his mother left him with a father who, while I don't think is necessarily described as a _huge_ jerk in cannon, certainly seems to be portrayed as such most everywhere else. Being left to the dogs like that would screw a kid up, and given that, at the start of Season 0, Jonouchi goes out of his way to screw with Yugi, I figure the series agrees with that conclusion somewhat. Also, even with Serenity's blindness getting cured in the series, Joey tends to treat her like he's trying to make up for something; a lot of stretching on my part, but reasonable stretching. And as far as this story goes, that will be the worst Joey is ever portrayed; I like him as a character and actually think there's so much animosity between he and Seto because they see the things they don't like about themselves in each other. So he won't be a villain or anything. **

**That's all I have to say about that. I would, however, like to encourage feedback on this chapter; it's the first _real,_ concretebonding that takes place between the two, and I really want to know what you guys think. If something should be different or you like something or you think I should slow things down after this, please let me know; otherwise I won't have any idea what changes I need to make. **

**One more apology for the late update, but- without making guarantees- I'll guess two weeks as a _maximum _for my next. **

**Thanks for putting up with all my rambling- if you've gotten this far- and that's everything. Until next time... **


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